Author: Dennis Page 61 of 180

The Pacific Northwest Podcaster

On July 4, 2020

A serial killer mistakenly targets a true-crime podcaster.

Whitney’s heart fluttered. Male, late 20s/early 30s with an alethic build? Check. Shaggy, blond hair? Check. Thick, black plastic sunglasses resting on a curved, wedge-shaped nose? Check. A prominent crescent scar on his right cheek? Check. She was positive the stranger jogging behind her matched the police sketch of the Noon Slayer.

Whitney kept a steady pace as she traversed the dirt trail at Stewart Memorial Park. The summer weather in Washington state never got uncomfortable for her noon jogs. The tall, western hemlocks and various evergreen trees provided ample shade, with the fresh rain bringing its petrichor fragrance.

She tapped on her headphones, which weren’t playing music. They never did. They were only on her ears for the same reason a worm would be on a hook. The serial killer caught up to her. Whiney smirked. He took the bait.

As the Noon Slayer was about to grab Whitney, she spun around and tased him.

* * *

The Noon Slayer’s eyes fluttered open to a microphone attached to a boom arm with a pop filter. White nylon rope strapped him tight on the metal chair.

“You’re awake,” Whitney greeted with the joyful tone of a morning radio host. “Don’t say anything. I need to hit record real fast.” She took a seat on her RV kitchen bench behind the matching microphone she had set up for herself and pushed the record button on her audio recorder. “Hello, crime-heads. I want to start off this episode by thanking my guest. I’ve gotten in pretty good shape since I started jogging about a month ago to get you on my show.”

“Where am I?” the Noon Slayer grumbled.

Whitney pushed the red button on her pop-out kitchen table, sending him a painful electric shock. It wasn’t enough to kill or do any serious harm, but the pain was enough to say, “I’m the one in charge.”

“Hey, I’m the host here,” she playfully scolded. “This is my podcast, so I’ll be the one asking the questions–until the end when I let my guests ask me a question before I let them go.”

He looked around the cozy fifth-wheel travel trailer that held him captive. Everything was clean and neatly organized. His gaze focused on a massive cork bullion board as long as him, pinned with newspaper clippings of all his killings. He nodded toward the murder board. “You a fan of mine?”

“You can say I’ve been tracking you. Oh, wait. That was technically a question.”

She pushed the button, shocking him again. When he settled, she took down the murder board from the easel (revealing another board covered in clippings about a different serial killer). She laid his board on the bed next to him so he could see her research and then returned to her seat.

“What do you think?” she inquired.

He reviewed the large board. In addition to the newspaper clippings, there were crime scene photos, a copy of the police sketch, and a pair of gold foil business cards with the word, “Congratulations.”

“How did you–” he stopped, catching himself. “I mean, I’m impressed you have my calling card. Two of them.”

“Thank you, but truth be told, one is a replica I made. The public doesn’t know about your calling card. I managed to sneak a photo from one of my sources investigating you. The other is the one I pulled out from your wallet, Trent.”

Trent tried not to laugh at his carelessness. “I knew I shouldn’t have kept my wallet with me.”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself. I’ve learned that nobody is perfect in all my years of doing this podcast. On the subject of mistakes, how accurate is my board about you? Are all of those yours? Am I missing anyone?”

“You’re missing my first one.”

Whitney sat up and leaned forward. “I am? Do tell.”

“It was different.” His eyes drifted up as he reflected. “I did it with my car. It was an accident–a complete accident. It was a hilly road. I wasn’t paying attention to the jogger when she ran in front of me. I thought I was going to get caught. But I didn’t.”

“Then let me guess, the thrill of not getting caught become intoxicating?”

“It did.”

“This happened around noon, just like all of the others?”

“Yes.”

Whitney nodded. “That’s what the psychologist Dr. Miller suggested when I interviewed him in episode 215. Well, Trent, you’ve answered all of my questions today. Before I let you go, as per tradition, I like to let my guests ask me a question.”

Trent didn’t say anything. Whitney added, “Don’t worry. I won’t shock you.”

Whitney pulled the chef knife from the cutlery drawer, walked over to Trent, and brushed the blade along the rope behind his back.

“Who are you?” he asked.

She sawed the rope just long enough to give him a false sense of hope before she stabbed him in the back. “I’m the Pacific Northwest Podcaster.”

Inspired by the writing prompt: “A well-known serial killer has been following you through town. He seems to be has been targeting you for a while now. But you’re not scared, in fact, you’re thrilled about it. Finally, you have a new target.”

I realized I hadn’t set any of my weekly stories in Washington state, where I grew up in my grade/middle school years. I got inspired by the writing prompt to have a serial killer stalk one of the woods there. Since it had been forever since I visited that area, the only park with a hiking trail I could think of was where my parents found a golden ticket for a radio contest. I texted my Mom for the name of the park. She asked why I was asking about it and I told her the premise of the short story. She asked me if I was going to incorporate a golden ticket into it somehow and I said I’ll see what I can do. Then she suggested it should be the killer’s calling card.

That’s the origin of this week’s short story. Thank you for reading!

Me at Norman 1 Million Cups

By Dennis

On July 3, 2020

In Real

Earlier this week I was honored to be a guest speaker at the Norman chapter of 1 Million Cups to speak about my business, The Show Starts Now Studios! After some introductions, I gave a short presentation about my studio project and the various shows I’m producing, followed by a Q&A session. Due to COVID-19 concerns, the monthly event was held online via Zoom. They were kind enough to record the meeting and post it online, which I’ve embedded above.

Thanks to the Norman 1 Million Cups for having me! I had a great time sharing my story with everyone.

Winchester Drive-In Theatre

By Dennis

On July 2, 2020

In Real

Keeping the tradition alive started by the Shanbour brothers in 1968, The Winchester Drive-In in Oklahoma City brings families together for a night under the stars and a giant movie screen. Austin Edwards, Jeff Massad, and Erich Massad give advice for those that have never experienced a drive-in before, what to expect, and their food offerings.

In regards to COVID-19 precautions, the Winchester Drive-In is only showing one movie, requiring masks when visiting the concession, and partaking in social distancing and strict sanitary guidelines. For the latest guidelines, visit their website or Facebook page.

Pizza at the Winchester Drive-In Theatre - photo by Dennis Spielman

As for my “reopening” plans at Uncovering Oklahoma, I’m carefully easing back into filming new episodes. With all of the uncertainty, especially with businesses closing temporary or permanently, and with me taking on more freelance work, episodes will be less common for the time being. I plan to focus on outdoor places and retail shops, less on restaurants and bars (unless they have some strict COVID policies in place).

I am holding off on doing guest host videos, which sucks because I had so many great segments planned for this year. One of the guest host ideas I had planned was to start featuring in the Spring were places where English isn’t the owner’s first/best language. In addition to new collaborations, I had planned on doing more volumes of past collaborations throughout the summer. We’ll see how the fall looks.

On the topic of my other shows, Jeff and I recently recorded our first episode for Tales Unveiled since we stopped due to COVID. Still aiming for a fall release for the third season. I’m hesitant about starting the next seasons of Art & Victory and Yes! Science! We’ll see how the fall looks but those might be a next year thing.

While I haven’t been filming as much, I have shifted gears to write more. I’ll be dropping new beta versions of my books in July for those who support me on Patreon. I’m really excited about those!

With the importance of streaming and having videos, I’ve started to pick up more freelance work. I got a big project coming up that’s going to take up like half a month of my time doing a series of educational videos for various local arts organizations in OKC. I’ve also been live-streaming the Sunday Twilight Concerts series so check those out on the Arts Council OKC YouTube channel.

That’s all my news for you today. I wanted to loop you all in on my “reopening” plans with this new video. Thank you so much for your support!

The Oak Tree Box

By Dennis

On June 27, 2020

In Imaginary

After months of dreaming about a mysterious figure burying a box in front of a gnarled oak tree, Sydney stumbles upon the same oak tree during a jog.

Ripped away from the loving embrace of the comforter, Sydney fought to hold onto the dream as she tried to get a clear look at the mysterious person who had been regularly haunting her. She thought this would be the grand reveal. The faceless stranger would develop a face. This time she would succeed! But when that cover came off, Sydney drifted out of the dream, dragged backward by a giant invisible hand from her answer.

For the past few months, her dreams would start randomly (or be inspired to replay something stressful or embarrassing like dreams tend to do), but inevitably, the plot would shift toward her witnessing a small box being buried under a gnarled oak tree by a hooded figure, wrapped in red. Whenever they noticed her, it was dream over.

Sydney groaned, and she opened her eyes to her girlfriend, Chloe, standing beside her. Chloe sported a pair of bright, purple leggings (with the most enormous pockets she’s ever found on workout pants) and a tank-top with a creepy purple eye from some weird podcast she loved.

“Adventure!” Chloe declared as she tossed Sydney’s running pants in her face.

“I was so close,” Sydney mumbled with the pants on her face.

“To beating me in a race?”

Sydney tossed the pants on the floor as she sat up. “To getting a good look at the stranger burying that box.”

Chloe pitched a tank-top that read, “Adulting is Hard,” at Sydney, which she caught.

“That’s what you said last time.”

“And you woke me up early then too,” Sydney stated with a yawn. “Perhaps I should solve the mystery of how you can function this early without any coffee.”

“I’m freak like that,” Chloe winked. “Now, come on, adventure!”

Sydney did enjoy her morning jogs (and cycling on the weekends) with Chloe. They had been running together before they started dating. It was during one of their jogs when Sydney confessed her feelings for Chloe. She peered over at Chloe, who was wandering around in her imagination. She smiled, thinking of how happy she was with her.

Chloe tended to take random routes while jogging, cycling, car drives–it didn’t matter–she would get lost on purpose. “Adventure!” she would often proclaim as her excuse and defense. Today was no exception when she took an unannounced sharp right through a prairie grass field.

Sydney followed, making a mental note to check for ticks when they returned home as Chloe plowed forward. Shortly through the field, the ground dipped down to reveal a creek.

“A creek,” Chloe cheered. “This is so picturesque. Syd, you want to follow it up?”

Sydney shrugged. “Sure.”

Had Sydney known the path would lead them up a steep hill, she would’ve said no. Had Sydney known that the top of the secluded hill had an abandoned cemetery, she would’ve said hell no.

“Let’s see who can find the oldest tombstone,” Chloe challenged and raced to the nearest one.

There weren’t that many tombstones to inspect. Sydney’s best guest was 20. None of the grave markers stood out, but the gnarled oak tree off in the corner made Sydney freeze. Chloe shouted some date as she moved to inspect another, but Sydney drowned it out as she focused on the tree from her dream.

“No fucking way,” Sydney mumbled.

Chloe popped her head up. “What? What did you say?”

Sydney pointed. “It’s the same tree from my dreams.”

As Chloe turned to look, a person wrapped in a red cloak stood from the tree, coming into their view.

“No fucking way,” Sydney mumbled, again, louder this time for Chloe to hear. The stranger noticed them and ran off. Sydney bolted after them, shouting. “Hey! Stop! Who are you?”

Sydney chased them into a patch of prairie grass. A windowless, metal red door stood in the middle. The stranger was fast, faster than Chloe even. The stranger opened the red door and went through. When the door closed, it blinked out of existence.

Sydney stopped where the door once stood, with Chloe caught up.

“You saw that, right?” Sydney asked.

“Yeah, I saw that. That was the person from your dreams, right?”

“I think so.”

“Do you think they left that box behind too?”

Sydney paused. “You know what, we should go check.”

At the base of the gnarled oak tree was a patch of freshly moved soil. Sydney dropped to knees, declaring, “Fuck it,” as she started to dig with her bare hands. Without hesitation, Chloe kneed down and joined in.

After digging a foot deep, they unearthed a rustic wooden red box the size of a person’s head. Sydney lifted the lid off. Inside were a pair of red fabric facemasks and an index card. Sydney grabbed the note while Chloe took out a facemask.

“This handwriting looks like mine,” Sydney commented.

“What does it say?”

“You’ll both need these in three years for 2020.”

The red metal door opened. The stranger ran through, closed the door behind themselves, and took off their hood. It was an older version of Sydney by about five years. Together, under the night sky in an empty field, was a tall, slender man in a pink suit she knew as Loki and a woman named Raven with a similar slim build, but a little shorter and in a red dress. Behind those two was a door the same color as Loki’s suit.

“It’s done,” Sydney stated before she rapidly deteriorated into ash.

Raven tossed Loki a gold coin, which he ceremoniously caught. She tapped notes into her tablet.

“You won that round,” Raven graciously conceded. “She was willing to alter time, knowing it would cause her death, just to create a future with Chloe.”

“Don’t worry,” Loki teased as made the coin disappear from a sleight of hand trick. “You’ll get more opportunities, especially since those two live longer now.”

Inspired by the writing prompt, “Every night, you have the same dream. A small box being buried under a knarled oak tree, by someone you don’t recognize. The dream always ends when they notice you there. You don’t think too much of it, until one day, you spot the tree from your dreams, in the centre of a local graveyard.”

For this story, I decided to feature Sydney and Chloe from The Spiral Staircase in the Woods, to see them together as a couple. I struggled to decide what to put in the box. One of my first ideas was one of those personality cards from the Little Shop of Personalities, but then the whole face masks and 2020 warning came into my mind and I couldn’t think of anything else. I re-read their first story to make sure I didn’t anchor it at any time and then I ran with the idea. Originally I was trying not to feature Loki and Raven (and perhaps a new end-timer), but I liked that nice callback twist at the end I came up.

Thank you for reading!

Temple Guardian

By Dennis

On June 20, 2020

In Imaginary

After escaping to an underwater ancient temple, Nerine jokingly asks the temple’s god to save her from the mechanical mercenaries. Someone responded.

Another explosion. Nerine bolted out of the boulder’s path–narrowly avoiding getting her fin squashed–as parts of the ceiling collapsed in the underwater cave. Before she could return to hiding, her entire body became engulfed in a red beam of light from the eyes of one of those responsible for the destruction. She thought the mercenary looked like a centaur, but with a crab body instead of a horse and the whole creature was mechanical. They pointed at her, triggering a swarm of mechanical crabs the size of octopuses to march after them.

“Go! Go! Go!” Nerine’s best friend shouted.

Nerine followed Océane as the two mermaids swam out the tunnel they came through.

“Keep going straight,” Océane ordered. “I’ll take the path on the right at the fork.”

“Split up? No!”

“It’s for the best.”

“But, you don’t know where that other path goes!”

“I’ll be fine. I’m faster than you. Now go!”

“But–”

“Just do it for me!”

Océane turned right at the fork while Nerine continued straight down the familiar path. As Nerine got closer to the exit, the tunnel narrowed slightly, but she knew it wouldn’t be tight enough to stop the mercenary. She swam through the neon pink seaweed that concealed the cave’s entrance, emerging beside an ancient temple in Neplor’s Historic Square District.

Due to the holiday, the local shops were closed, making the district deserted. With no alternatives, she swam into the Hall of Poseidon to hide. The building had an extensive open floor plan when the merpeople modernized the temple to become a vendor market space. The temple got built initially when the Atlanteans’ first arrived to the Blue Planet after being exiled from Earth thousands of years ago. After some freak storm soon after the temple’s completion, it sunk to the bottom of the ocean where the merpeople claimed it. Nerine only knew all this because she recently turned in a report about the district for history class.

With the venue’s open concept, Nerine’s only option to hide was behind the towering white marble statue of Poseidon. In this depiction of the ancient god, he stood tall with human-like form complete with legs and chiseled chest as he warmly looked down at those in the temple. The metal trident spear stood erect in his hand, which Nerine had often seen it used to hang banners and flags whenever Océane and her came to the market.

The moment she got behind the statue’s base, the mercenary made their presences known with the sound of the mental claws dinging against the marble floor. Nerine clenched her fists, resisting the urge to sneak a peek. Océane crossed her mind. She hoped her friend was safe. As a yellow beam of light scanned the area, Nerine looked up at the statue.

“I wish you were real and here to defend your temple,” Nerine prayed.

The sounds of the claws clink, clink, clinking on the marble floor echoed louder and louder in the waves as the mechanical crabs crept closer and closer. Then the tapping came to a halt. The light turned red, followed by sounds of metal ripping and bashing against the walls.

“Is that the best you got?” a voice provoked.

More metal clashed as the intensity ramped up. The mercenary’s light flickered out, and silence followed.

“You’re safe now,” the unfamiliar voice welcomed.

Nerine popped her out. Floating above the pile of metal wreckage was a merman wielding a trident who bore a striking resemblance to the statue of Poseidon, but with a merman body and luxurious, curly sea-green hair. He ripped off the mercenary’s head from his trident and added it to the scrap pile.

“Thank you,” Nerine spoke as she swam out, still on the alert for any danger.

“It was my pleasure,” the merman replied. “It’s been ages since someone called out to me for help.”

That can’t be Poseidon, she thought. He’s just a character.

“My brothers are going to be upset for interfering,” he rambled. “Worth it, though.”

“Why would your bothers be mad at you for helping me?”

“We’re supposed to work in ‘mysterious ways,’” he mocked with air quotes. “But Hades is one to talk with what he’s been doing lately for Cassie. Families, am I right?”

“Yeah, families can be tough,” Nerine remarked. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Don’t drown people with a statue of my head as a tribute,” he joked.

“I can do that,” Nerine responded, confused, not understanding the reference. “Anyway, I don’t mean to be rude, but I really need to go find my friend. Thank you again.”

“Safe travels, Nerine!”

Nerine swam out of the temple, but when she reached the entryway, Nerine paused to look back when she realized she never shared her name. The merman was gone.

I wrote a second story featuring Nerine and Océane for this week’s short story. To me, this could work as the last half a chapter for a book about their adventure. In case you missed it, read Upgrade Cave for the first story I wrote with them. I also made a subtle reference to another one of my previous short stories, Sacrificed, and a nod to one of my books I’m writing.

This story was inspired by the following writing prompt: “On the run from mercenaries, a young girl stumbles into an old Greek temple and in a last ditch effort to save herself, begs for help from whichever god or goddess it belongs to. She didn’t expect them to show up in person.”

Thank you for reading!